Bravs Celebrity Post

Certainly you recall a little story from the other day involving Paris Hilton strapping on her miner’s hat and going spelunking down the tattooed throat of one Travis Barker. Now that you’ve finally removed the last traces of projectile vomit from your office ceiling, you’re going to have to break out the antibacterial 409 one more time: It seems that Travis and Paris are repeat offenders, with particular emphasis placed on “offend”. After the cut, all of the gut-curdling grossness in glorious full-color video!

You’ll recall that Paris found it terribly endearing that her former fiancé Paris Latsis–he of the simian countenance and fat wallet–shared her name. Finding another guy named “Paris” has proven to be a quite a task, so we suppose she thought “Travis” was close enough. The pair had another oral encounter the other night at New York nightclub Marquee after making the rounds at Fashion Week afterparties. In this truly disturbing video, captured by the staff at TMZ, we see Paris, her hair reminiscent of Naomi from Mama’s Family, lean in more than once to lob back Barker’s tongue-serve. Watch in wonder as she breaks the kiss to furiously text on her Sidekick before hightailing it out of the club:

necktoo tastes lk lip ring cheez
snd help

P-A-R-I-S. N-A-K-E-D. At MrSkin.com.

One Tree Hill star Sophia Bush is loved by the lesbians. And you know who else lesbians seem to have a thing for? Annette Burger. But even more than Annette, they can’t get enough of Alice Poon. Lesbians love Poon.

According to The Sun (via Egotastic) Sophia said:

On the first season of Nip/Tuck I played a bi-sexual and in John Tucker Must Die I had to kiss Brittany [Snow] my co-star, which was awkward because she’s one of my best friends.

That was weird.

I’ve started getting interesting propositions from some female fans. (I get) some letters. The barista at a Starbucks I frequent has started asking me if I would not mind playing for the other team.

I had to kindly say no, but she makes really great coffee so I still go in every day. I’m not thinking about it, but I appreciate it greatly.
Perhaps Sophia should consider getting herself a nice piece of lesbian action. And if she got herself a butchie she’d surely get a lot more morning mirror time than during those long months she was married to Chad Michael Murray.

Sophia says no to Bush at MrSkin.com.

Angelina Jolie

Date of birth: 06/04/1975

Place of birth: Los Angeles, California, USA

Bio: Angelina Jolie may occasionally come off crazier than a bag of cats, but few pussies can make a man’s crotch purr like this ultra-C, superhumanly sensuous, luscious-lipped, goth-glam-a-go-go free spirit. Angelina first appeared onscreen opposite her pop Jon Voight in 1982’s Lookin’ to Get Out, but it took a decade before she busted out her big guns in Cyborg II (1993). Once unleashed, that… MORE >>

Check out Angelina Jolies big breasts below!

Find more of Angelina Jolie and other big boob celebs here

Are you are the type of gentleman who enjoys snatching ladies’ knickers from clothing lines? Would you like to indulge your lacy, frilly hobby without getting arrested and boxed about the gonads (again)? Is your idea of the “ultimate score” a pair of hamburgled drawers that were once worn by a woman of note who possesses an infamously large rear?

Then turn to your friend Mr. Skin, who is giving you the chance to win a bra and panty set that was donned by actress/world-renowned ass model Vida Guerra! Details under the cut.

Ms. Guerra, whose colossal caboose you’ve seen in the pages of Maxim and elsewhere, recently starred in a movie called National Lampoon’s Dorm Daze 2. And speaking of “poon”, Vida’s was stuffed into a pair of lacy underpants and matching floral bra, which you can win, along with the movie! Click here to enter. Just think of all the useful things that could be done with a pair of used Vida Guerra panties! Slingshot. Halloween mask. Pet parachute. Dropcloth for painting. Beer cozy. Jaunty chapeau! The possibilities are endless!

More Vida to come at MrSkin.com.

By now you know that Paris Hilton was arrested last night for drunk driving. And you might have also heard her gossip sympathizers pulling out the normal lame-ass excuses. She only had one drink. Her house was like four minutes away. Her blood alcohol level was almost legal. The paparazzi flashbulbs are impregnated with tequila that soaks into Paris’s skin with every snap and her drunkenness is totally their fault. Sure, Paris. That’s like a hooker getting arrested mid-beej and saying, “But officer, I only charged five dollars and he was really, really begging for it. I couldn’t help myself.”

Listen, we’re not going to recount the whole damn story for you here. The actual facts aren’t that interesting. Paris’s pet giraffe was not in the car, she called no one sugar tits (as far as we can tell at this moment), and no naked trannies were not going at it in the back seat during the arrest. So if you want to read every little nuance, head over to TMZ. They’ll help you out. All we’re going to delve into here is the aftermath. Paris revealed on Ryan Seacrest’s radio show this morning that she had to drive really fast because she was starving like Nicole Richie during the after-dinner cigar and just had to get to In-N-Out before she wilted away into a malnourished skeleton (TMZ also has the audio from that appearance). Not surprisingly celebrity boot licker Perez Hilton was with Paris prior to the incident and had this to say:

Paris was not wasted. She had one drink - a margarita, mixed at the table - minutes before getting into her Mercedes on her way to In ‘N Out Burger to get something to eat. She had spent the last two days shooting a music video in Long Beach.

Within a block of the charity concert at the Dragonfly is the Hollywood police station and the cops pulled Paris’ car over less than ten minutes after this picture was taken.
So . . . Paris is at an event, undoubtedly listening to opportunists fawn about how “brilliant” her album is and how “HOTTTT” she looks tonight, when she thinks, “God, I’m famished, I need a burger, but first, garçon, mix me up a margarita tout suite!” She then downs the margarita and immediately hops in her car and speeds–PAST A POLICE STATION–in the direction of the nearest burger. Yeah, she sounds totally innocent, the incident just an unfortunate series of events that could have happened to anyone.

We don’t know if Paris is drunk at MrSkin.com, but she’s definitely naked.

You thought you had it so good living next door to that old hippie dude who grows weed in his basement and is really friendly and likes to bake up a huge batch of pot brownies every week and share them with the whole neighborhood. But if you were Scarlett Johansson’s neighbor, you might wake up in the middle of the night to find her drunkenly wandering around your kitchen searching for munchies. We’ll wait here while you consult with your real estate agent.

We’d like to introduce you to the newest baby in the celebrity gossip playpen, Star Pulse. Slightly more reliable than News of the World and with infinitely better spellcheck monkeys than FemaleFirst, it might just be our new favorite source. And, really, who cares if their stories have little to no credibility if they entertain us? They fail to tell us to whom Scarlett gabbed about her inadvertent breaking and entering, but this is what she allegedly said:

I was coming home, it was very late, mind you, it was like four in the morning. Maybe I’d had like one too many champagne cocktails, or whatever… But I got home, of course I wasn’t driving, and I opened my door and it wasn’t my kitchen! It was somebody else’s kitchen and I left and I realized my key opens up somebody else’s door in my building. It like slides right in and opens it up!

I slammed the door shut as quickly as I could and I ran to the stairs because I didn’t want them to think, “Who the hell was that?” It was a disaster! Then I thought maybe I should go back and see if they had a can of Coke or something… I just got back from Venice (from the Venice Film Festival), so I don’t have any groceries!
We suggest that when you do snag that sweet flat next to ScarJo you keep your fridge properly stocked with everything a drunken celeb may desire in the middle of the night (and Scarlett is healthy and curvy and sexy and looks like she actually knows what a cheeseburger tastes like, so celery sticks and Slim Fast aren’t gonna cut it). We also suggest that when you yourself come home drunk and “accidentally” try your own key in Scarlett’s door you make sure that she’s shooting a movie on location or otherwise removed from the premises before you go investigating the contents of her underwear drawer.

Start your Scarlett investigations at MrSkin.com.

You know how in school when there was a raffle to give away a giant trampoline or a moped or something the girl who ’s dad owned the paper mill and who had her very own Lamborghini at fourteen always won even though you really, really wanted it and totally deserved it? Jessica Simpson is that girl.

You’ve been saving up all year, skipping those morning lattes and stowing away your pennies, in hopes of trading in your old Pinto for a bright shiny new Ford Focus or Kia Spectra. And it’s almost within reach. But if you only knew how to stuff a pair of double-D’s into skimpy outfits and work a nylon hair extension, you could snag yourself a much nicer car–plus a whole lot of other junk you could totally buy yourself–for free. The New York Daily News reports on Jessica’s pre-VMA haul:

Two flunkies groaned under the weight of dozens of bags to be loaded into Jessica’s SUV. Her haul included almost $4,000 worth of G-Star denim, many thousands more in Rosalina diamond jewelry, dozens of Hanes and Penguin shirts and a Klipsch iGroove home sound system.

Then Jessica selected a key out of a grab bag, in hopes that it would start the Chrysler Crossfire SRT-6 convertible parked outside on 40th St. And guess what? It did! The car was hers.
And you know what’s even worse? “The crowd cheered as Jessica added the $50,000 sports car to her day’s winnings.” We’re sure the crowd consisted of people who don’t even pull in fifty grand in a year–people who drive Scions and Hyundais, for Christ’s sake. And yet they cheered as if it were Oprah giving cars to single moms who have to take the bus to work and not a multi-millionaire being handed a car that is probably “beneath” her. Where is the justice? Where is the ire? Where are the incensed plebeians flinging their own feces in protest? We’ve gone soft, people.

Work up your disgust with pictures of Jessica and her new car at Dlisted.

See if Jessica can win your heart–or your pants–at MrSkin.com.